


Consolation Tactics

by Elvensmith



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: M/M, Series: The Song of the Lioness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8298175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvensmith/pseuds/Elvensmith
Summary: "Alex of Tirragen is not the kind of boy who has heart-to-hearts." Roger of Conté has tea with Alexander of Tirragen shortly after he survives the Sweating Sickness.Originally written for the Malorie's Peak Prompt "Tea and Sympathy" on Fief Goldenlake.





	

“Go take a rest, Alex. That’s enough for today, I think,” Duke Gareth said quietly. He flexed his hand as he sheathed his sword. On most days, Alex would smirk to himself once his fencing master had turned away. Gareth calling off training was the closest Alex could get to beating him.

  
But today was different. Today, Duke Gareth had called off training because Alex was noticeably tired, and the session was going nowhere. Alex leant on his sword, trying to catch his breath and maintain his composure. “Your Grace,” he said firmly, with all the steadiness he could muster. “I can keep on. We must keep on.”

  
Duke Gareth turned and looked up and down the newly-made squire. Alex could have sworn he was smirking if he didn’t know better. The Duke turned away and swiftly left the training yard, flexing the hand that was missing a finger, as he was often wont to do.

  
Alex was alone in the yard. He could hear birds chirping distantly. It was early summer, and the heat still hadn’t quite set in after such a cold winter, especially not at this hour in the morning. The palace still possessed an eerie quiet left over from the Sweating Sickness. He stabbed the dirt with his sword, taking comfort in the little damage it could do. Alex was perpetually afraid of damage.

  
“Fancy a walk?” a familiar voice called from the stands.

  
Alex raised his dark eyebrows at Gary. “What are you doing, lurking about before breakfast? Don’t you need to be fed to get out of bed?” he sneered.

  
“It’s a bit hard to sleep nowadays, isn’t it?” Gary clambered over the fence. Alex sheathed his sword and strolled towards his old friend. The boys didn’t often talk about the Sweating Sickness. “I dream about Francis quite often,” Gary confessed.

  
Alex said nothing to this. He tried not to think about Francis. Francis, his friend. Francis, who disappeared. Francis, whose body he never saw.

  
Gary cleared his throat. “How are your lessons with my cheerful father?”

  
Alex raked his hands through his hair. Nowadays, it seemed easier not to talk. “Embarrassing,” he admitted. “I don’t know how he does it. He was just as sick as I was.”

  
“It’s like he does it just to spite you, isn’t it?”

  
Alex laughed. “Feels that way. It just isn’t possible that he’s so recovered, looking at me like I’m some sort of invalid. I’m panting and sweating and he’s just chopping at me left and right!” His laughter turned to ash as he spoke. “I wish he'd just _push_ me. I can _take it_.” The quiet anger in Alex's voice surprised Gary. Alex bit the inside of his lip, feeling far too close to damage.

  
“Alex, he’s the training master. I’m sure he knows what’s best. He’s a right pain, but you’ll be up to snuff soon, I’m sure of it.” Gary placed a ginger hand on his friend’s back.

  
Alex stood abruptly, kicking up some dirt as he did. “That was all well and good when I was a page, but I’m a squire now. All I’ve got to attract a knight is my fencing, and your father doesn’t think I’m worth the effort to train anymore.” The look of helplessness on Gary’s face made Alex's insides cold. He faltered, then steeled himself. “I’ll see you for lunch,” he said swiftly.

  
“What?” Alex was already leaving. “Wait, Alex!” Gary followed him out of the practice courts. “Alex, come on, it’s alright if you’re mad!” But Alex kept walking, and Gary knew he wouldn’t get much more openness out of his friend. He’d always been secretive and quiet, but the Sweating Sickness and the constant presence of Alan, for whatever reason, had closed him off for good.

  
Alex climbed up to the palace ramparts, grateful that Gary had stopped pursuing him so he wouldn’t have to say anything cruel. He always had cruel thoughts nowadays—they were better left unsaid. The wind on the ramparts carried those thoughts away, and eased his mind. He was as strong as the walls themselves. And the pit in his stomach—the pit reserved just for Gary—had nothing against the cold wind. It, too, would seal up, even if just for a few minutes.

  
It wouldn’t go today. Today, it opened wider and wider, engulfing his limbs. He held on stiffly to the stone under his palms. Today, he wanted to yield to the winds and feel lost. He laughed out loud at his own melodrama. There had always been something wrong with him, even when he was quite little. He’d always been a misfit, undesirable even to his steely family. Gary was the first person he’d met that had wanted to be his friend for no conceivable reason. And Gary let him be—he let Alex be dark and quiet, and he bugged him to open up when Alex needed to be opened up. And when the boys had turned fifteen, the feeling of acceptance changed. Suddenly, he felt excited. Being with Gary made a pit open in his stomach, and no matter how much he watched him or laughed with him or confessed to him, he simply couldn’t fill it.

  
He thought the pit would go away. But it hadn’t. He wasn’t sure that it _could_. He’d gotten too used to letting go.

  
_“You’re a Tirragen,” his father had said before he’d left for the palace. “We keep close. It’s easier to be honorable that way.” He’d look up from his papers and meet Alex’s eyes then. Tirragens had dark, exceptional eyes. “It’s easy to be strong that way. If your name is all that you love.” Tirragens were purposeful, unambitious. And when they looked you in the eye, they always meant it._

  
But Alex was not unambitious. And he was not steadfast. Not even Gary understood that Alex was a walking tragedy.

  
“A bit melodramatic, don’t you think? But I might have waited until nightfall, or dusk at least.”

  
Alex didn’t allow himself to seem surprised. He’d never seen this man before. He was beautiful. “Sir?”

  
“Duke Roger of Conté. But I’d honestly prefer Lord,” the man smiled brightly. His eyes were a dazzling blue. Alex opened his mouth to introduce himself but Roger cut him off—“They call you Alex, don’t they? A Tirragen boy. That’s a good house.” He looked Alex up and down. “Fancy a tea?”

  
Alex took a deep breath. He could feel a dazzling magic seeping from Roger’s pores. Hypnotizing. “Of course, your Grace,” he said quietly. He saw the corner of Roger’s mouth turn up and warmth seeped into him.

  
When they arrived in Roger’s rooms, Alex was surprised to find that it had already been set up, and quite glamorously at that. It was full of glittering trinkets and luxurious fabrics. The fire crackled hungrily, as though it might never die. Alex felt warmer than he’d been in quite a while. Roger called for tea from a maid while Alex took a seat at his coffee table. He could hear some faint whirring sound, or perhaps it was a tinkling. The room was in magical motion. He wondered what one might find in Roger’s bedroom.

  
“Alexander of Tirragen,” Roger said heavily. There was a twinkle in his eye. “I haven’t heard too much about you, have I?”

  
They hadn’t talked on their journey, and now Alex didn’t know what to say.

  
“You’re an excellent fencer, are you not?” Alex noticed a jeweled wizard rod in Roger’s hand. He couldn’t quite shake it from his eyes.

  
“I show a lot of promise,” Alex said honestly. He wanted to say more, but he caught himself. Roger’s expression flickered, as though he, too, were expecting more.

  
His gaze reminded Alex of his father. It told no secrets. But his eyes were open. _Inviting_. Roger broke his stare and chuckled. “Remarkable.”

  
A maid brought in a pot of tea and two china cups. Roger poured him a cup. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to handle the flavor. It’s quite bold. Fireleaf.”

  
Alex took a sip. It was spicy, but he’d always had a taste for heavy spices. They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking quietly. Roger seemed to be contemplating something.

  
“You love men, don’t you?” Roger said suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  
The pit in Alex’s stomach, all but sealed up, roared open. He choked on his tea. “Your Grace,” he said with all the steadiness he could muster.

  
“It’s not a question. More… a curiosity, I suppose,” Roger said, daring Alex to object. “You’re just,” he paused to think of the right words, “ _raging_ with emotion.” He laughed then, infectiously.

  
Alex swallowed, shutting his eyes, willing himself not to betray himself. Or, gods forbid, Tirragen. “Your Grace, you have quite insulted me,” he said slowly, imbuing his voice with the iciness he so often witnessed his father employ. “I am a man of honor, and anyone would tell you the same. My silence is not an invitation to _explore_ me with your grotesque assumptions.”

  
Roger’s laugh had quieted by then, but Alex’s response brought on a fresh wave. There were tears in his eyes. When Alex showed no response to this, Roger cleared his throat and regained his composure. “Oh, you’re _magnificent_. You and I will have so much fun together.”

  
Alex stood abruptly, knocking the tea a bit. “I’m sorry your Grace, but it is quite close to lunch, and I’m expected to be in the mess hall.”

  
“Of course,” Roger said earnestly. “I hope you’ll forgive me, I’m just so glad to have met you. You’ve quite exceeded my expectations.”

  
“I’m not sure I understand you, your Grace.”

  
“Oh but you do. You’re just chock-full of potential and pure, good old _ambition_. And you’re fierce. You _know yourself_. I've heard some word of your mysterious nature, but I'd always chalked it up to teenage angst... helplessness," he spat out the last word with disgust. "But you’re quite full of ferocity, aren’t you!” For a moment, Roger seemed carried away by his own thoughts. He focused on Alex’s eyes then, and he touched a warm hand to his jaw. Alex’s skin quivered—he was so rarely ever touched. “Oh, you’ll see, Alex, you’ll see.” The pit in Alex’s stomach had vanished. He felt full for the first time in years. Roger took his hand away, and the pit returned. “Tea tomorrow, then?”

  
Alex swallowed. “Yes, your Grace. I’ll see you then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey whoever may read this! This'll be my first post to AO3 - I've been lurking for a bit but have never posted my own fics. One of my favorite imagined ships in the Tortall universe is Alex/Gary, and exploring Alex's sexuality and mentality in general, so I'll probably be posting quite a few Alex/Gary-related fics. Hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!


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